


The Illusive Simple Life

by toasterpapa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, gets a bit spicy at the end, somewhat case fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasterpapa/pseuds/toasterpapa
Summary: Draco's back in England, minding his own business, but trouble finds him anyway; trouble in the form of angry revolutionaries and a certain Golden Boy worming their way back into his life. He so badly wants to keep running but his feet won't seem to move.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is still ongoing so I'm not sure of the title yet, so any feedback would be appreciated! Without further ado please enjoy

This was  _ exactly _ how Draco had wanted his day to go. He was recently back in England, after taking off three years to travel once he’d completed his mandatory eighth year at Hogwarts. He’d tried to make a low profile re-entrance, but obviously there was an article about it in the paper only two days after he’d arrived. He really wanted to have Rita Skeeter arrested, but the way he had obtained the information of her animagus was not entirely legal. He was trying to turn over a new leaf. 

 

He had been minding his own business, just browsing books in Flourish and Blotts, (slightly late at night because he didn’t want to be seen), when he heard loud noises outside. He dismissed it, (partially because he had been to a party earlier and was not as sharp as he usually was), and left the bookstore empty handed. This was his first mistake. His second was investigating the smoke he saw from an empty building. This chain of events lead to him standing in front of some very rude Death Eater 2.0 wannabe graffiti. Even he couldn’t argue that this painted a very guilty picture. 

 

It was just Draco’s awful luck that the Auror called to the scene was none other than the Saviour himself. He then promptly arrested Draco. Draco was far too shocked by the sudden appearance of his childhood crush and enemy to defend himself, or even say anything relating to ‘oh yes, by the way I’m innocent.’ All he did manage to say was, “Potter, long time no see.”

 

Potter started reading him his rights, which was when Draco finally remembered to say, “I didn’t do this.”

 

Potter only raised an eyebrow at him, and Draco continued, “Okay, this does look very incriminating, but I didn’t do this.” He was not on the top of his game at this moment. 

 

He did have to hand it to hand it to Potter though, despite their previous disagreements, that he was very efficient. In only five minutes, he was sitting opposite Potter in a Ministry interrogation room. 

 

“So,” Potter began, “You deny that you wrote the graffiti.”

 

“That is correct,” Draco nodded. 

 

“Do you have any proof of that? I am sorry to say it, but you don’t have the best track record in this area.” Potter did seem legitimately sorry to mention that, and Draco was used to it so he let the moment pass. 

 

“Just give me some veritaserum,” said Draco impatiently. 

 

“You sure?” Potter asked. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be back,” said Potter. Draco watched him leave to fetch the potion, enjoying the dramatic swish of his robes. 

 

He drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for his interrogator to return. He was hungry; he hoped Potter’s questioning would be quick. 

 

Again, he was impressed with how swiftly Potter returned with the potion. Draco immediately downed the veritaserum like a shot, staring back at Potter expectantly. 

 

“You in a rush?” Potter asked. 

 

Draco only shrugged, “I want to get this over with.”

 

“So, did you put up the graffiti?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Have you done anything else illegal recently?”

 

“Not to my knowledge.”

 

“How can you not be sure of whether or not you did something illegal?”

 

“I am not familiar with Wizarding drug laws.”

 

“I’m going to say that you’re fine.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“So were you involved in the graffiti in any way?”

 

“None. I’ve only been in the country for four days.”

 

“You did not have a wand on you at the time of your arrest,” Potter stated. 

 

“That was not a question,” Draco remarked. 

 

Potter seemed slightly surprised at this, as often veritaserum was powerful enough to make you spill all your secrets without asking a question. Draco however had become quite skilled in resisting its effects.

 

“Why did you not have your wand with you?”

 

“Is this relevant to the case?” Draco asked. 

 

Potter managed to hide his shock well, which Draco appreciated. 

 

“I suppose not, they just nail procedure into you for years.”

 

“Those darn institutions, crushing free spirit.”

 

“Well you’re free to go now,” said Potter. 

 

“Thanks.”

 

There was a somewhat awkward exchange as Potter escorted him to the exit amidst many curious stares. 

 

“Can I ask,” Draco began before he left, “What was that graffiti about? I’ve missed a lot.”

 

Potter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite sure how to answer. “Tensions are still high. Some people are trying to support the old regimes, and they’re fighting the people who are way too hostile about punishing former Death Eaters.”

 

Draco whined slightly at this. “I didn’t know things were still so bad.”

 

“We’re handling it so far, just be careful.”

 

“I always am. Paranoia never really goes away.”

 

“I know what you mean.”

 

“Thanks for the heads up.”

 

“No problem, it was the least I can do, since I just arrested you.”

 

“Have a good night, Potter.”

 

“You too, Malfoy.”

 

It appeared he and Potter had decided to be politely friendly, which Draco was glad for. He hoped the next time they met it would be in a more pleasant setting, but as he was quickly remembering, while in England, his luck was always awful. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He managed to pass a full two weeks of being back in England with a surprisingly small amount of dirty stares, and of course a few rude comments. He was almost lulled into a false sense of security. Almost. He never went anywhere without his paranoia. 

 

Draco was just humbly going about his evening, browsing a furniture shop for his practically empty new house, when some rather unpleasant young men entered the shop as well. Draco’s overly tuned senses immediately noted that these men were not interested in the furniture. Draco took this as his cue to leave. 

 

“Where are you going, Malfoy?” asked one of the men, blocking his path to the door. 

 

_ Damn _ , thought Draco,  _ I was so close to turning over a new leaf. _

 

“I’m going home,” said Draco, sounding perfectly bored. 

 

“Why so soon?” asked another man, joining the first in standing in front of Draco. They had not figured out yet that Draco Malfoy was not a man easily intimidated. 

 

Draco flicked his wrist behind his back once the third man stepped to join the other two, desperately hoping his magic was precise enough to leave the witch behind the counter a note to leave. He heard the clicking of a door somewhere in the back, and sighed inaudibly in relief. 

 

“You’re back in England, Malfoy,” said the stupidest looking man of the bunch. 

 

“So I am,” said Draco impatiently, “Not to be rude,”  _ he certainly wanted to be rude,  _ “But you’re blocking the door.”

 

“You’re not leaving yet,” said the first; he had a very annoying voice, like he thought he was much more intelligent that he really was. Draco supposed his voice used to sound like that. It made him dislike the man even more. 

 

“Really? Because I quite fancied a pint after all this tiring furniture shopping,” said Draco, leaning on a cabinet beside him. 

 

“Smart mouth,” the second goon commented. It seemed the first was the leader, and the other two were the muscle. 

 

“Okay, as much as I’ve enjoyed this little chat of ours, I really need to get going.”

 

The goons’ only responses were to draw their wands and step closer to him.

 

Draco dropped his uninterested attitude to stand up straight again. “Are you going to move, or do I have to move you?”

 

The second man muttered a few charms, rather good ones, sealing off the shop.  _ Fuck,  _ thought Draco,  _ This might be difficult.  _

 

“Do you really want to do this?” Draco asked, cracking his knuckles. 

 

“We really do,” said the third goon. 

 

“Not going to draw your wand? Scared to fight?” asked the leader. 

 

“Nope,” smiled Draco evilly. He knew it was a sickly sweet smile that could draw fear. He had practiced it to be that way. 

 

The goons were the ones now intimidated, though they looked like they were pretending not to be. None of them moved for a few seconds, as the goons were unsure what to make of Draco still not drawing his wand. 

 

“Well go on, if you aren’t here to hex me, why are you here?” Draco snapped. 

 

“England was better off without you Death Eater scum,” said the annoying one. 

 

“Cutting straight to the point, good approach,” Draco noted. 

 

“You never paid for what you did.”

 

“I do remember probation, and the terror of having every member of my family force me into a life I didn’t want.”

 

“We had friends who were killed, and family too.”

 

“So did I,” Draco observed. This fact only angered them further. 

 

“They deserved what they got,” the leader spat. 

 

“Sure, because teenagers are irredeemable, and deserve death,” said Draco, using sarcasm to mask his rage, “So this is some sort of revenge plot?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

“Well then, do your worst,” said Draco. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Harry’s arms were filled with paperwork, and he had a deadline for his case reports, so he barely noticed when a frantic witch ran into the office. He opened the door to his office and put the stack of files down on his desk with a loud thump. He was beginning to loosen the collar of his robes when the floor’s secretary ran into his office, rambling about something to do with Malfoy and goons and a furniture shop. 

 

Harry ran. 

 

The frantic witch took him to a shop front, now holding mostly broken furniture. Amid the flashes and bangs coming from the shop, Harry caught sight of Malfoy’s blond hair. 

 

“Stand back,” Harry said to the witch, drawing his wand and advancing toward the shop. Harry threw a few detection charms at the door, not surprised when he discovered it was locked with several different charms. He always hated it when criminals were thorough. He was good at his job so he got into the shop in only one minute. 

 

He ducked a curse the second he got through, accidentally thrown by Malfoy. 

 

“Potter, you’re late. What does this say about Auror response time?” said Malfoy, blocking several curses from the goons.

 

One of the goons turned to Harry, and they started duelling while Malfoy singlehandedly took on the other two. Harry managed to knock out his goon and one of the ones duelling Malfoy when his back was turned. The last one looked rather freaked now that his backup was unconscious on the floor. 

 

Malfoy blocked a few more of his hexes, and Harry stood back as Malfoy had it covered. This was when Harry noticed that Malfoy didn’t have a wand. In a moment of panic, Harry thought the goon had disarmed him, when he saw Malfoy throw a stunning spell at him. Malfoy had been fighting off three wizards using wandless magic. Harry thought his life had robbed him of the ability to be truly shocked by anything, but obviously he had been wrong. 

 

“Damn,” Malfoy cursed, after the goon hit the floor, “These idiots ruined some nice furniture.”

 

He waved his hand around the piles of broken and smoking furniture, repairing it all with one charm. Harry was slightly in awe. 

 

“So what do we do with this?” Malfoy asked, nudging one of the unconscious men with his toe, a disgusted look on his face. 

 

“We take them back to the Ministry, then I get your statement,” Harry explained. 

 

“I’ve been in England for a month and have already been in trouble with the law twice.”

 

“You’re not in trouble this time, don’t worry about it.”

 

“Thanks. So how are we going to get these three boulders back to the Ministry?”

 

“I’ll call in the rookies to do it.”

 

Harry sent a patronus to the office, then turned back to Malfoy as they waited. 

 

“You’ve got a few cuts,” said Harry, pointing to a gash on Malfoy’s arm. 

 

“Oh,” said Malfoy, turning to look at his arm in a newly repaired mirror. 

 

“Want me to call a Healer?” Harry suggested. 

 

“It’s not deep,” said Malfoy. He winced as he pulled his torn shirt away from it, examining the injury. He hovered his fingers just above it, his eyebrows knitting together as he muttered healing charms. A few seconds later, it was completely gone. Harry had no idea what had happened in the three years he’d vanished for, but some major character development must have happened. 

 

“When will your minions be here?” Malfoy asked, jerking Harry back to his senses. 

 

“They’re not my minions, I have to get promoted for that. If they’re not here in five minutes though, I get to be annoyed with them.”

 

“If they’re here in four minutes and fifty-nine seconds, I can look annoyed for you,” Malfoy offered generously. 

 

“How kind of you, to not be on the receiving end of the annoyed look will be fun.”

 

“I was just preparing you for the real world, Potter, you ought to thank me for that.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Malfoy, for the jeering over the years, how lovely that was,” said Harry, his slightly too sharp tone betraying the joking banter. 

 

“Sorry about the more nasty stuff,” Malfoy apologized, “I was an asshole.”

 

“It’s alright, we were just kids then.”

 

“I quite enjoy the maturity of adulthood.”

 

“It’s relaxing.”

 

The minions showed up then, and took away the goons to be detained for questioning. Harry escorted Malfoy to the Ministry again, (to his office not an interrogation room this time), to take his statement. 

 

Malfoy recounted the story in an almost bored tone, completely missing the fact that fighting off three wizards while wandless is not boring in the least. Harry stared at Malfoy the whole time, trying to take notes while also trying not to look  _ too _ impressed with his old nemesis. He had a reputation to uphold after all. Once Malfoy was finished, Harry lead him out again, with a strong sense of deja-vu. 

 

“You should be more careful,” Harry warned, “Those guys probably won’t be the last.”

 

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m done hiding.”

 

“Bold choice,” said Harry, allowing himself to be impressed now. 

 

“See you around, Potter,” said Malfoy with a light smile. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop here's another chapter

“Trying to live a fucking quiet life!” Yelled Draco, kicking a wall before he remembered he injured his foot, and swearing loudly. 

 

“Whoa there, Healers will be here soon,” said Potter tiredly, examining his own wounds. 

 

One of the so called ‘revolutionaries’ had gotten up and tried to sneak up on Draco, which Potter had quickly learned was a terrible idea. Draco whipped around and punched the guy straight in the face, a burst of red light exploding from his fist as he stunned the wizard at the same time. 

 

“Remind me never to be on your bad side again,” said Potter, staring at Draco with trepidation. 

 

Draco waved a hand in Potter’s direction dismissively, causing Potter to flinch. 

 

Draco chuckled, “You’ll get used to the wandless magic eventually. And don’t worry, I don’t think you’ll be on my bad side again.”

 

“Reassuring,” said Potter sarcastically. 

 

“One month since these twats attacked me before, now they corner both of us,” Draco grumbled. He toed his way around the warehouse, making sure all of the unconscious wizards were magically bound. 

 

Potter leaned against a pillar, groaning in pain. He started to slowly slide down, clutching his side. 

 

“Whoa there,” said Draco, running over to catch Potter, “Careful, don’t want to break England’s saviour.”

 

“S’fine, I’ve had worse,” said Potter, his wince giving him away. 

 

“Well, I already know you’re a macho man, so you can drop the act,” said Draco in a slightly softer tone. 

 

Potter wrinkled his nose, moving his hand away from his side to let Draco examine him. Draco knelt in front of him, squinting at the tear in Potter’s robes. He supposed now was an inappropriate time to realize that Potter’s robes fit him quite well. 

 

“Alright, this isn’t too bad, I can fix it.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

This case was going to be the end of Harry. Months of trying to track down these radicalist groups, and nothing. After the incident with Malfoy, there had been no more similar occurrences, but the whole office could tell that they were working up to something. You developed a sense for these things after being an Auror for a while, which Harry thought must be why he excelled, as he had been developing that skill since he was eleven. 

 

“Potter,” called Harry’s supervisor, leaning into Harry’s office, “There’s been weird activity at an abandoned warehouse, check it out. It’s probably just some annoying kids, but be thorough anyway. Jen can give you the address.”

 

Harry went, and though the warehouse looked abandoned from the outside, once he walked inside, his adrenaline immediately kicked in. 

 

Malfoy was bound to a chair in the centre of the warehouse, looking bored apart from a blossoming black eye. Harry honestly didn’t expect anything else from him at this point. Harry himself would likely be the same, as they’d both faced death enough times by now. 

 

Well, he hoped he’d get a promotion, as he seemed to have found the suspects the Aurors had been looking for for several months. 

 

Every wand in the room was pointed at Harry’s chest. Oh, how he loved this part. 

 

“Potter, nice to see you,” said Malfoy jovially. 

 

“Malfoy, we ought to stop meeting like this,” Harry replied in an equally even tone. 

 

“Hazard of the job, I guess,” Malfoy drawled, leaning back in his chair, presumably to get a better idea of his bonds. Half the wizards pointed their wands at Malfoy, unsure of who to be most suspicious of.

 

“Why the fuck are you chatting?” asked one of Malfoy’s captors. 

 

“We’ve done this enough times by now,” said Malfoy, “Just tell us your evil plan and get on with it.”

 

Harry snickered, and all the wands in the room once again tensed in his direction. He just shrugged and raised his hands, “Get on with it.”

 

There were ten wizards there, all looking extremely confused at Malfoy and Harry’s interactions. They weren’t putting up a fight, and were instead ordering them around. Harry and Malfoy had immediately taken control of the situation, but the political fanatics had not yet fully realized it. Harry tried not to be too proud of himself, because it was not over yet. 

 

With their wands still pointed at Harry, they explained their plot, (the same one everyone had been hearing for four years). Once they had finished the spiel about the Ministry being too lax about punishments for former Death Eaters and whatnot, Malfoy got impatient and finally stood up, rubbing his wrists and fixing his cufflinks. He’d freed himself several minutes ago. 

 

“Well boys,” he said, walking towards Harry as all the wizards’ wands pointed to him in shock, “This has been good fun, but I have a hair appointment at two, and evildoing at three, so I must be going.” He sauntered over to Harry, “You coming, Potter?”

 

This was when the goons made their next mistake. One of them flicked his wand and locked all the doors. 

 

Harry sighed, “This is not how I wanted my day to go.”

 

Malfoy rolled up his sleeves, “England is just as wild as I remember.”

 

The radicalists looked very angry. 

 

Harry’s day was going to get harder. 

 

Ten wizards to two weren’t good odds, but Harry had faced worse, and he guessed Malfoy was equal to at least four wizards. It turned out Malfoy was worth five wizards when they each took on half the wizards. 

 

They did remarkably well, until the adrenaline wore off, and he sank to the ground in a fair amount of pain. Malfoy told him he could fix it, and at this point if Malfoy told him he knew how to make arithmancy enjoyable, Harry would believe him. 

 

“You sure do have a talent for getting injured, Potter,” said Malfoy, pulling Harry’s shirt open to get a better look at what the rogue curse had done to him. 

 

“I’ve been practicing for twenty one years, Malfoy, I’m an expert.”

 

“Well, it’s time to find a new hobby,” said Malfoy, leaning in closer, starting to mutter healing charms. 

 

The pain started to turn to weird tingling sensations, which partially went to Harry’s head as well, because he leaned back and watched Malfoy work, entranced. 

 

It’s strange how much can change about a person in a few years. He’d stayed in England for a year after the war to complete his seventh year at Hogwarts as a part of his probation. Hermione had taken it upon herself to befriend him, and had described him as ‘quiet.’ Harry hadn’t believed her until Malfoy sent her a letter at the end of the year thanking her for being kind to him. He then disappeared for three years, occasionally sending Hermione a postcard from a faraway country. 

 

The years had been kind to him, softening the edges the war had hardened. He didn’t slick back his hair with that awful gel anymore, and his voice had lost its edge of cruelty. He’d also grown into his looks quite well. He was the same height as Harry now, and his shoulders filled out his suit jackets spectacularly. 

 

“Feel alright?” Malfoy asked. 

 

“What?” Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from Malfoy’s frame. 

 

Malfoy smiled, “Are you feeling alright?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“I’m almost done,” said Malfoy. 

 

“You’re very good at that,” Harry observed, watching Malfoy’s hands work their magic as they touched Harry’s side gently. 

 

“I’m good at a number of things,” said Malfoy, finishing up fixing Harry’s wound by cleaning away his blood. He sat back, healing a few of his own injuries. 

 

“So where did you go?” Harry asked, doing his robes back up. 

 

“Where did I go?” Malfoy asked, confused. 

 

“In those three years after school, you just vanished.”

 

“I went everywhere.”

 

“Care to share any details?”

 

“I went around Africa, that’s where I worked on wandless magic. I knew a bit already, but I wasn’t much good. I went to South America, that’s where I learned a bit more about healing spells, and magical creatures, in the big wizarding community in Brazil. I went to America next, I only stopped in New York City. I did some shopping, consulted on a few cases with MACUSA-”

 

Harry cut him off here. “MACUSA? You just casually consulted for  _ MACUSA? _ ”

 

Malfoy crossed his arms around his legs, sitting back to tell Harry the story. “Well, when you go to America, you have to apply for a wand registration thing, and I still used a wand sometimes then, so I had to go to the MACUSA building to finish some paperwork - dreadfully uptight, those American wizards are - and the Malfoys are still liked in America, so while I was there, the MACUSA Aurors asked me to help out - some Death Eaters fled to the States after the war, and I helped them weed out the last ones.”

 

“And now you’re stopping a British Auror from bleeding out, what a humanitarian.”

 

“Maybe my Order of Merlin got lost in the mail.”

 

“I think mine’s in a box somewhere.”

 

“You put your Order of Merlin in a box?”

 

“Not important, where did you go after New York?”

 

Malfoy looked at him shiftily, but continued nonetheless. “I went to Canada after; they have a lot of wizarding schools there, a lot of magical creature specialties, herbology too, but I wasn’t too interested in those. I brushed up on my French and attended some lectures on Charms and Transfiguration in Québec, then spent the majority of my time in Toronto. I spent a few months travelling across Asia and the Middle East after North America, then finished it all off with Europe before I ended up back in England.”

 

“Wow. I’m exhausted just listening to that,” Harry said once Malfoy had finished recounting his travels. 

 

Malfoy laughed, “It was fun. I rested up in Toronto where I stayed for a while, and Europe at the end was relaxing more than anything else, so I was fine.” They sat in silence for a moment, Harry still absorbing Malfoy’s story, before Malfoy pointed out the obvious, “Aren’t you going to call for backup?”

 

“Oh shit, I forgot,” said Harry, scrambling to get up and send off a patronus while Malfoy laughed good-naturedly. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Once again, they were on the Auror floor, having their statements taken, but this time there were many more people being arrested, and they told Harry to take the day off work because he’d been injured, and had possibly made the arrest of his career. He was very glad to be excused from paperwork. 

 

After they had been shuffled out of the Auror offices, Malfoy turned to face Harry. “I need a drink. Do you want a drink?”

 

“God yes.”

 

They found themselves at a bar an hour later, several drinks in, and were now on a first name basis. They were laughing as one does when lightly drunk and recounting ridiculous stories from school. After they’d learned each other’s sides of almost every conflict they’d had at school, (which took quite a while), they moved on to stories from Draco’s travels and Harry’s weirder Auror cases. 

 

The conversation moved on then to their love lives, once they were drunk enough to have the courage to. 

 

“Come on Draco, spill it,” Harry urged. 

 

“Spill what?” Draco asked innocently, pretending not to know what Harry was referring to. He was drunk, so he was terrible at pretending. 

 

“Tell me about all the people falling at your feet during your travels.”

 

“I assume you’re using the term metaphorically, so the answer is no one,” said Draco deviously. 

 

“So there was literal falling at your feet?”

 

“Something close to that, perhaps.”

 

“And I thought purebloods were prudes.”

 

“Far from it,” Draco assured. 

 

“Well, now I need details,” Harry insisted. 

 

“How many details?” He asked suggestively. 

 

“Spare me the intimate ones.”

 

“Hmm, those are the more interesting ones.”

 

“Tell me who then.”

 

“What is the point of telling you who? I doubt you know many Brazilian men.”

 

“Brazilian men, hmm?”

 

“Only one Brazilian man, though there were several Canadian men; a few in each continent actually.”

 

“Impressive. Pansy Parkinson turn you off women forever?”

 

“Was never on them in the first place,” Draco giggled, “That sounded a bit wrong.” Harry burst out laughing, but Draco shushed him, “Tell me about  _ your _ love life now.”

 

“Not much to tell. Ginny and I split after the war. It was mostly amicable. Nothing serious since then, but I had absolutely no desire for serious.”

 

“I can drink to that,” said Draco, and they drank. 

 

“Anyway, I’ve had some flings, but that’s it.”

 

“So here we are, the Chosen One and the rich former Death Eater guy, very single, and very drunk.”

 

“We aren’t  _ that _ drunk. I’ve been drunker.”

 

“As have I. We will probably remember this tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe we should stop then, while we still have some of our wits about us.”

 

“I always have my wit.”

 

“Not that kind of wit.”

 

“Then to which wit are you referring?”

 

“Aah, I don’t know, I’m drunk.”

 

“So am I. I’m too tired for riddles.”

 

“That is a sentence I never thought I’d hear coming from your mouth.”

 

“My mouth can do a lot of surprising things.”

 

“Apparently you’re not too drunk for innuendo.”

 

“I’m never too drunk for innuendo.”

 

“And the world is better for it.”

 

“Whose tab is this on?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“I’ll pay.”

 

“No, it’s fine, I can pay.”

 

“Potter, you’re rich, but I’m filthy rich, let me pay.”

 

“I won’t argue with that.”

 

“We should do this again sometime.”

 

“We should. We could even do it sober.”

 

“That’s a fine idea. What an innovative approach.”

 

“How do you still sound so eloquent when you’re drunk.”

 

“Years of Malfoy upbringing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know me I love those time skips


	3. Chapter 3

Draco woke up the next morning with a resounding headache. He dragged himself out of bed, and fell, but he then managed to find the rest of his hangover potion, and started to feel much better, and his mind defogged. 

 

So it was true, he had fought off ten wizards and gotten drunk with Harry Potter yesterday. He thought his travels were crazy, but it appeared like crazy followed wherever he went. He also very much wanted it to happen again. (The drinking with Potter,  _ Harry, _ not the getting kidnapping.) But how was he to do it?

 

It’d been a while since he’d asked someone out properly; at least a year. He wasn’t even completely sure Harry would be interested. If his memory from last night was to be trusted, he had been quite flirty, and Harry had neither reciprocated nor rejected it. Perhaps he would go out with Harry again, slightly more sober this time, before he made any further action. He also decided to write Harry a quick note. 

 

_ Harry,  _

_ If your head hurts as much as mine does, last night was a success. Thanks for saving my ass from those fanatics by the way. We should do it again. _

_ -DM _

 

He was pleasantly surprised that evening when he received a reply on Ministry stationary. 

 

_ Draco,  _

_ We should, but I think we should skip the attack first. Some friends and I are going out next Friday, you should join us. _

_ -Harry _

 

Well shit, Harry had asked  _ him _ to do something. That solved one problem. The next problem was just winning him over. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too difficult. He was trying to win over Harry Potter though, so it may prove to be tricky after all. He was, of course, his previous enemy, and very Gryffindor, and also had a whirlwind high school romance with his best friend’s sister; who was, well, a sister. He tried to be optimistic, but that had never been his strong suit. He didn’t think he had ever been optimistic. Maybe once when he was high. 

 

As much as he wanted to stay home and scheme, Draco had business to attend to. It turned out being the sole heir to an estate and running across the world left one with a lot of shit to deal with. Since he’d been back, he’d been going through the Malfoy’s more hidden stores, (the ones even the Ministry couldn’t find after their months of searching.) He kept all the cool artifacts and books, but handed over the dark stuff to the Ministry. 

 

He’d finally finished going through the creepy dark basements, but the next job was to talk to all the annoyed aristocrats who had business with his father. He wasn’t yet sure if he was going to continue running the estate the way he’d been groomed to do so his whole life. He wasn’t sure if he could. Anyway, he had to keep up his income somehow, but he was much inclined to just cut all ties and burn through the money and possibly get a job. He’d picked up enough skills abroad to find something quite easily. 

 

He decided as he was on his way to meet one of these aristocrats. He arrived to the lunch and before he knew it, he was telling the uptight elitist man that he would no longer be doing business with him. He would savour the look on that man’s face for a long time. He went back to his flat, (a relatively large one he had purchased when he returned to England, as there was no way he would live in Malfoy Manor), and felt a bit of a weight lifted from his chest. He went immediately to his desk and wrote to all the sycophants giving them the same message as the first. Aah, if his father even got out of prison, the look on his face would be even better. 

 

His next order of business was to finish cutting ties by going to the post office. The rest of his day was free, so he shopped at some muggle stores, flirted with a barista, and had a lovely day that ended with some wine his mother had sent from France, and a bubble bath. It was a day that seemed fit for a rich middle aged bitter trophy wife, but he enjoyed it. 

 

The next day, he woke up with a feeling like it was going to be a good day. Just that was a bad omen. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Another field mission?”

 

“Yep, I’m young and sprightly.”

 

“Well just be careful.”

 

“I’m always careful.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

Damn, Harry could have sworn he was being careful. He apparated not exactly right, because it’s difficult to think clearly after you’ve been cursed with various - things - bad things - gah, thinking was hard. Instead of ending up outside St. Mungo’s, he fell onto the pavement and pulled himself up to find that he was in Diagon Alley with Draco and Hermione. That was an odd sight. 

 

“Harry what the fuck?” asked Draco, grabbing Harry’s waist to stop him from falling over and possibly passing out. 

 

“Meant to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Harry, looking around at the shops along the alley, “This isn’t St. Mungo’s.” Harry tried to turn like he was trying to walk to St. Mungo’s, but Draco wrapped his other arm around Harry to stop him from doing something incredibly stupid.

 

Harry turned around to stare Draco directly in the face. “It’s nice to see you again.”

 

“It’s nice to see you too,” said Draco, laughing with a twinge of concern, “What did they hit you with?”

 

“Oh, everything,” replied Harry, sinking farther into Draco’s arms as his knees gave out. 

 

“Okay, well we should get you to the hospital,” said Hermione. 

 

“I’ll take him,” said Draco, which made complete sense as he was currently holding all of Harry’s weight, “Can you meet us there?”

 

Harry thought that Hermione said something in reply, but that was when things got even more fuzzy. He vaguely remembered Draco scooping him up bridal style as he carried him to a gurney at St. Mungo’s, which either meant that Draco was incredibly strong or skilled at lightening charms. The next thing he saw was a swarm of Healers and then blackness. 

 

He woke up an unknown amount of time later in a great deal of pain with Hermione sitting next to him. 

 

Harry groaned. 

 

“You’re awake,” said Hermione with a perfect bedside manner, handing him his glasses. 

 

“Unfortunately,” Harry grumbled. 

 

“The Healers said a lot of technical jargon, but the summary is you’re going to be fine with a few days rest.”

 

“Peachy. Is Draco still here?” Harry asked, trying to be nonchalant. 

 

Hermione smiled slightly, which confused Harry, but his potion-slowed brain didn’t dwell on it for long. 

 

“I think he is still here somewhere, I don’t know where he vanished to though,” said Hermione, craning her neck to scan the ward as if she expected him to pop out from behind a curtain. 

 

He didn’t pop out of a curtain, but he did come through the door like a normal person a few seconds later. 

 

“Oh, hey, you’re awake,” said Draco, sitting in the chair next to Hermione. Harry tried to sit up, but Draco put his hand on Harry’s chest to stop him. “Whoa there, you were hit with a ton of bad shit. They had to undo two different physical curses, and one hell of a confundus charm.”

 

“You lost me after ‘bad shit,’” said Harry. 

 

Draco laughed, checking Harry’s vitals in the little floating orb thingy Harry never knew the name for, despite all the time he spent in St. Mungo’s. 

 

“So where did you vanish to?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Got a job,” Draco answered, casually taking the second seat by Harry’s bedside. 

 

“A job? Here? Today?” Harry asked. 

 

“Yep.”

 

“How?” asked Hermione incredulously, “How did you do that?”

 

“I asked,” said Draco. 

 

“Are you even real?” Harry wondered. 

 

“No, he’s not,” Hermione agreed, nodding and not looking over at Draco. 

 

“What’s happening here?” asked Draco. 

 

Harry and Hermione laughed at him, until Harry was in a bit too much pain to continue. 

 

“You alright?” Draco asked, leaning forward in concern. 

 

“Yeah, just hurts.”

 

“You got hit with one of those ones that just makes you hurt all over. Try not to move?”

 

Harry did as he was told and lay back against his pillows. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “You got a job here?”

 

“Yeah, I’m good at Healing and I took a few courses abroad, so I got an internship.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Hermione interrupted Draco and Harry’s little staring contest by standing up and grabbing her bag. 

 

“Well I’d better get going,” she said, zipping up her coat. 

 

Draco stood up as well, in his strange overly polite way. Harry was quite amused by how much of a gentleman he was. They exchanged pleasant goodbyes, then Draco sat back down beside Harry. 

 

“You don’t have to stay, you must be busy,” said Harry, even though he didn’t want Draco to go. 

 

“I’ve got nothing to do today; I don’t mind staying,” Draco assured. 

 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, blaming his blush on the medication. 

 

“Anytime,” said Draco, smiling sweetly at him, “But try not to do this often. Don’t want to break that pretty face of yours.”

 

A Healer came in then to give him more potion, and once he left, Harry was even more fuzzy. 

 

“You think I’m pretty?” Harry asked. 

 

Draco was the one who blushed then. “It was merely an observation, Potter,” he said, not looking into Harry’s eyes. 

 

“Back to calling me Potter now?”

 

“I’m only joking, Harry,” he said, the emphasis on Harry’s name making his heart flutter. 

 

“That’s good,” Harry mumbled, “Don’t want you to go…”

 

Harry drifted off to sleep after patting Draco’s knee as he mumbled asking him not to leave. 

 

He was woken a few hours later by a Healer giving him another dose of potion, and was pleased to see that Draco was still sitting by his bedside. The Healer signed his discharge papers on the condition of Draco bringing him home. 

 

Draco was always a gentleman, so he stood patiently outside the curtain as Harry got changed. His Auror robes were expertly repaired, even the small damages from past missions he’d decided were too small to matter. He had a good idea who would be able to notice those details. 

 

“Draco,” Harry asked, stepping out from behind the curtain, “Did you fix my robes?”

 

“Yes,” he said, inspecting his handiwork, “Of course I mended them, I have no idea how you can walk around with robes as unkempt as those.”

 

“You’re the only one who can notice them,” Harry defended. 

 

“Exactly,” said Draco, as if that somehow proved his point. Harry decided not to fight it. 

 

“Okay, thanks. Let’s go then.”

 

“Tired?” Draco asked, watching Harry limp away.

 

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled, evening his step and walking quicker to the door. 

 

Draco walked swiftly up to Harry and took him by the arm. Harry glared, but Draco rapidly shut down his protests with a simple look. “Harry, you’ve been injured, stop moving so quickly. You don’t need to be all manly.”

 

Draco took Harry back to his apartment where it took Harry a minute to undo his wards enough to let Draco in. He wondered if Draco was judging all the extra measures he’d put on his apartment. 

 

“Impressive charm work,” Draco praised. Harry thanked him and they made eye contact. The look on his face told Harry that Draco understood. The war never truly left them, not fully. 

 

Draco helped Harry to his bed, where he fell into it fully clothed. Draco chuckled at him and started to untie Harry’s shoes, and Harry lifted his feet so Draco could pull them off for him. He was too tired to care how embarrassing this was, but he supposed he was quite incapacitated, providing him with an adequate excuse. Harry’s memory cut out somewhere in the middle of Draco taking his shoes off his feet like a child. He would find out when he woke up the next morning that Draco must have tucked him in as well. 

 

Harry groaned and pulled a pillow over his face to block out the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in his curtains. After sitting up very slowly to let his headache subside,  he found his glasses perched on his bedside table along with a note from Draco. 

 

_ Harry, _

_ Your shoes are by your door. I hope you feel better soon, please send me an update on your condition when you can. I expect you to return the favour next time I get confunded and beaten up. _

_ -DM _

 

Harry groaned again, some memory of Draco half carrying him home resurfacing. He supposed the only way to recover from this was to take Draco’s approach and own it with confidence. He stumbled over to his desk and wrote Draco a note, telling him that he was fine and just needed roughly 36 straight hours of sleep. He also added in a thank you at the end, when it struck him yet again that Draco had tucked him in like a child. He hoped it would suffice as Harry was not able to write much else in his current state. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kinda short but trust me it's good though I might add more in a rewrite alright have fun thanks

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Harry recovered quite quickly, and Draco’s new job kept him far too busy, in Harry’s opinion. They went out for drinks a few times; with their merging group of friends, never alone. There was still a great deal of sexual tension in their interactions, but they never had any time to act on them. Needless to say, they were both getting very frustrated. 

 

“I’m telling you, there’s definitely something there,” said Draco, leaning on the lockers in the staff change room when it was the interns’ scheduled time to whine about their love lives. It wasn’t officially scheduled, but it happened as a routine anyway. 

 

“Well then why don’t you just go for it then?” asked Hopkins, turning his nose up at strange goo he was trying to scour off his robes. 

 

“That’s for you to say, Wayne, has anyone said no to those abs?” Draco whined, gesturing at Hopkins’ chest. 

 

Everyone laughed, and Draco laid his head in his hands. 

 

“Cheer up, Malfoy, he won’t reject you,” said Entwistle, patting Draco on the back. 

 

“Thanks mate, I’ll let you know how it goes,” said Draco, not sounding very confident. 

 

“Don’t give us all the details, though,” said Quirke, earning her a quick glare from Draco before he was called to Creature-Induced Injuries. 

 

A similar conversation was being had in Harry’s office on the Auror floor. 

 

“Just ask him out, Harry,” said Hermione sensibly. 

 

“But how, though?” asked Harry nervously. 

 

“It doesn’t matter, Harry, he’s going to say yes.”

 

“How do you know that he’ll say yes?”

 

“Trust me, he will,” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes at Harry’s romantic incompetence. 

 

Thus, both men were planning to ask the other out, and one of them was working the night shift so they had opposing schedules. Their friends wished both of them luck, and started placing bets on who would manage to do it first. 

 

They continued to exchange letters, but due to Draco’s Healer training they kept missing each other. It was just their licl that Harry had gotten injured again, this time during Draco’s shift shift in Magical Maladies and Injuries. 

 

“Harry?” Draco asked, looking up from a clipboard as he walked over to Harry in the waiting room, “When they said Auror, I had a feeling it would be you.”

 

“Am I that bad at my job?” asked Harry, laughing and clutching the large burn on his thigh. 

 

“You’re great at your job, just not at avoiding injury,” Draco explained, leading Harry to a procedure room. 

 

“Well now you have an excuse to see me,” said Harry, lifting himself up on the table. 

 

“Yes, thank you for that,” said Draco, possibly sarcastically. 

 

“Fix me up then, and take your time.”

 

Several minutes later, Draco was healing Harry’s injury, and they were both feeling a strong sense of deja vu. Instead of Harry being shirtless, this time he was wearing no trousers. 

 

“So,” said Harry, “You’ve almost seen me naked now, I think it’s about time I take you to dinner.”

 

Draco looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, trying not to smile. “I wouldn’t say no to that,” Draco smirked, turning back to his work, (which was Harry’s upper thigh,) and said plainly, “You beat me to it. I think Ron owes Hermione ten galleons now.”

 

“They were betting on this?”

 

“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I definitely would. I’d bet on you, probably.”

 

“I would too,” Draco smirked, “I could have beat you to it, but I couldn’t exactly ask out a patient, now could I?”

 

“Well you could, I’m pretty sure it’s only frowned upon.”

 

“Put your trousers back on, Potter, you’re all fixed up,” said Draco, putting an abrupt end to their conversation.

 

“So I’m not your patient anymore,” Harry smirked, pulling his trousers back on. 

 

“Haven’t finished signing the charts yet, Harry,” Draco lilted in a condescending singsong, not looking up from his clipboard. Draco often did that; stare at other things while talking to people. 

 

Harry smiled and crossed his arms, waiting for Draco to finish signing his forms. Draco finally did finish those forms, but only looked up at Harry for a few seconds as he pushed some paperwork into Harry’s chest for him to sign. “Pick me up at eight, Potter, and take me somewhere nice.” He was gone in another second then, leaving Harry with only a passing smirk before he was gone with a final swish of his green robes. Of course Healer robes would be green, it was just too perfect for Draco. 

 

Harry left the hospital with a giddy smile, trying and failing to hide it. Harry went home immediately to make sure he had nice enough dress robes, because he knew Draco would be able to tell. 

 

When he showed up at Draco’s flat at eight o’clock sharp, looking absolutely fantastic. Draco opened the door, and Harry’s heart momentarily stopped. If he thought he looked great, Draco looked absolutely radiant. 

 

“So are we going then?” Draco asked after they both paused and stared at each other for slightly too long. 

 

“Yes, we’re going now,” said Harry, still completely focused on the fit of Draco’s robes. 

 

“Okay, good. Good,” said Draco, locking his front door. 

 

Harry offered his arm to Draco, and they disapparated. 

 

They had a lovely meal, as Harry had promised, and it soon became a regular thing. Sometimes they went for dinner, or for drinks, or for coffee and a walk in the park. On their third date, Harry dropped Draco off at home, but before he could leave, Draco had grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him. He’d beaten Harry to the punch this time. 

 

“Goodnight, Harry,” said Draco with a dazzling smile, letting his fingertips ghost across Harry’s cheek for only a moment before disappearing into his flat. Harry stood on Draco’s doorstep for a full minute before he’d collected his thoughts enough to apparate. 

 

Their romance continued in the cute teenagery way for several more weeks, but never surpassed a few steamy makeout sessions. Harry and Draco were so similar in so many ways, which in some instances were more prominent than those things that made them polar opposites. Their strongest similarity was their tendency to throw themselves headfirst into any situation and never do anything half-heartedly. They committed to whatever it was they partook in, and often wouldn’t even realize how deep they were into something before it was too late to back out. 

 

Draco may have come across as flighty by his gallivanting across the globe, but in truth even that was a product of his all-or-nothing nature. After the war, after England, he chose nothing. He moved constantly, but wherever he was, whatever he was learning, whoever he was with for a night, he gave it his all in the moment. 

 

It was the future and the past to which he gave nothing, instead choosing to give everything he had to the present. At the end of a day he would start fresh, and commit himself to the new today. This worked for him better than anything had in the past, as all that had held for him was torment. It was not a lonely existence, but it was a solitary one. 

 

Harry Potter had challenged that. 

 

He had appeared back in Draco’s life with a sudden and charming vigor, and Draco had fallen for it without even realizing. In equal balance with whatever he felt for Harry, Draco was also filled with fear and uncertainty. There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him he should move on soon, that he was getting too attached. It was this that caused him to never invite Harry inside after he dropped him off. It was this that made him start brainstorming where to travel to next. Every time he read about wizarding communities in Thailand or Malaysia however, he felt in some strange way like he was betraying Harry. 

 

Some part of Draco kept wishing that Harry would just tell Draco to let him in, or to ask him to stay. Harry wouldn’t though; he was too kind. 

 

So Draco didn’t push things farther, because he couldn’t, and Harry didn’t, because he wouldn’t. 

 

One day though, three months after Draco came to Britain, and three weeks after Harry and Draco had their first date, Harry did ask… somewhat. 

 

“So,” he said cautiously, chewing on his words for a minute, “are you staying in England?”

 

Draco’s heart stopped, then started beating again much too fast. 

 

“I don’t know,” Draco answered truthfully, though it tasted like a lie in his mouth. 

 

Harry nodded, and both of their expressions remained the same, but something had turned cold in the atmosphere.

 

“Where are you going next?” The tone in Harry’s voice made it seem like he felt he had just been a stop on Draco’s world tour. Draco wanted to scream that he meant more than that, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t know how to explain. 

 

All he said was, “I’m not sure.”

 

Harry nodded again. 

 

They finished their meal in near silence, Harry paid and left alone, saying he had to get up early the next morning. Draco leaned his head against the brick wall of the alley next to the restaurant. He really had fucked up something good here. He punched the wall, healed his knuckles, then apparated home. 

 

Harry did not send him an owl the next day, or the day after. Draco didn’t expect him to. He picked up travel books and some firewhiskey and tried to tell himself he shouldn’t be upset. He was upset.

 

Draco and Harry were very similar, but they were also immensely different. Where Draco was afraid of how he committed to everything, Harry embraced it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry it's been forever but i was focusing on the rewrite of my other story (Can You Fill The Silence go check that out real soon), and also i just got major writer's block but its up now so enjoy

It had been five days since the awful dinner, and Draco had chosen Thailand, but he couldn’t bring himself to pack. He had been moping for all of these five days, even though he insisted to himself it was not moping, because they were not serious. He had only left the house to buy alcohol, and lounged around getting nothing done, so he was most definitely moping. It was almost twelve a.m. and Draco was wearing only sweatpants and a crimson silk robe, carrying a glass of whiskey, when he heard a knock sound at his door. 

Thinking it would be Pansy or Blaise, he answered it despite his current state of half-dress. Much to his shock, the person on his doorstep was none other than Harry Potter in a similarly disheveled state, but looking spectacular nonetheless. It certainly didn’t help Draco’s dumbfounded expression that Harry’s wrecked look included just-shagged hair and a shirt unbuttoned enough to show a lovely amount of collarbone. He was bracing one arm against the doorframe allowing his shirt to pull open more.

“Why?” Harry demanded. He stood up straight and stared directly into Draco’s eyes, waiting for an explanation. 

“Why what?” Draco asked when he managed to actually produce sound. He had been taken aback by Harry’s presence filling up his doorway. Had Harry always been that broad? Damn.

“Why did you come back if you’re just going to run off again?” Harry asked angrily, shoving past Draco into his flat. 

He’d done it.

Draco slammed the door and whirled around to watch Harry standing furiously, breathing heavily in the middle of Draco’s lounge. 

“I-” Draco began, having to stop to force more air into his lungs.

Harry took a step closer to Draco, standing forcefully while waiting for Draco’s explanation. Draco was both intimidated and turned on. 

Draco started again, and wasn’t sure if his voice was shaking or not. 

“You can only run for so long before your legs start to give out. Then you go back to where you started, retrace your steps and try to find what you lost along the way.”

“When did you start running?” Harry asked grudgingly. Harry knew that Draco’s thoughts scrambled when he panicked so he fell back on metaphors. Only Draco Malfoy was someone who thought speaking in metaphors was easiest. 

Suddenly, Harry’s face seemed closer. Had Draco moved forward or had he?

“I’ve always been running,” Draco admitted, to Harry but mostly to himself. 

“And when did you stop?”

“I’m not quite sure I have.”

“So have you found what you’re looking for?” asked Harry, quieter this time. 

“I don’t think so. I think I might have lost too much.”

“Bullshit,” said Harry pointedly. 

“What?”

“I said bullshit,” Harry repeated, “That’s bullshit.” Harry was so close to him now, talking right in his face, “Forget trying to get back to what you were supposed to be. Make something new.”

“Okay,” Draco breathed, staring into those piercing green eyes. 

“Good,” said Harry. 

He grabbed Draco’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. Draco melted under Harry’s touch, clinging onto Harry’s arms for support. This kiss was different from the others. This kiss wasn’t waiting for the end, it was a kiss that begged for more. 

Harry let go of Draco’s face and instead clutched fistfulls of Draco’s red robe. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, pressing his body as close to Harry’s as he could. Harry was warm, so warm, and his chest was sturdy. Draco was having a good time, a very good time. He was still carrying his glass of whiskey. Harry’s tongue flicked across Draco’s bottom lip, and Draco eagerly parted his lips enough to let Harry in. Draco broke the kiss a few seconds later to catch his breath, and instead started nibbling down Harry’s neck, tracing his tongue lightly across his collarbone. A small sound reverberated somewhere deep in Harry’s throat but didn’t escape his lips. Just that promise of a sound was the most tantalizing thing Draco’s heard in a very long time. 

Harry’s head lolled to the side and he allowed Draco’s exploration for a short while, before he took control of the kiss again. He pulled Draco’s lips back to his own once more. He licked into Draco’s mouth with more fervor this time. 

“Where’s the bedroom?” Harry asked between kisses. 

“Left,” was all Draco managed to reply. 

Harry plucked the glass of whiskey from Draco’s hand and downed the rest. Harry’s hands slid down from Draco’s back to grip his thighs, and in one motion had lifted him up. For half a second Draco wondered where the whiskey glass had gone, but he quickly dismissed that because there were much more important things at hand. Draco gasped and laughed, wrapping his legs around Harry’s torso. Harry smiled mischievously and carried Draco to his bedroom. Draco was a bit of a pesky bitch himself, so he rolled his hips against Harry for a moment, finally eliciting a gasp from the other man when he had to brace a forearm against the wall to steady himself. Draco smiled cheekily at him, doing it again, but rolling his hips downward this time. 

Harry hissed a breath through his teeth and slammed Draco’s back against a wall, pinning him there. Draco laughed and captured Harry’s mouth in another searing kiss. Harry pushed Draco harder to the wall and smiled against his lips. With a sudden feeling that Harry was wearing far too much clothing, he shoved back against Harry to undo the remaining buttons on Harry’s shirt. Draco finally managed to push Harry’s shirt off his shoulders, and rested his hand on Harry’s chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. Harry pulled off Draco’s robe much faster, and it was discarded on the floor to pool next to Harry’s shirt without a second thought. 

“Y’know,” said Draco breathily, “I have a very comfortable bed right over there.”

“Is that an invitation?” Harry asked. 

“It certainly is,” Draco replied. 

Harry then walked across the room and deposited Draco on the bed before beginning to unbuckle his belt. 

“You’re very strong,” Draco commented, realizing that Harry had held all of his weight for quite a long period of time. 

“Comes in handy at times like these.”

Draco smirked and knelt forward on the bed to help Harry with his belt. He pulled it through the loops and dropped it to the floor. 

“I never mentioned that I’m loving the look you’ve got today,” Harry complimented, moving slowly closer to the edge of the bed, “The whole expensive silk robe, sweatpants and no shirt thing suits you.”

“I was comfortable, and wasn’t expecting company,” Draco defended. 

“Well I like it,” said Harry, kneeling on the bed and advancing over to Draco who was leaning royally against the pillows by the tall headboard. 

“Mmm, good to know,” murmured Draco, reaching out to guide Harry’s face to his. They kissed slower and deeper this time, savouring the feeling instead of rushing. 

They had waited a long time for this - an extremely long time if you counted the lingering looks at school - and they both were going to be damned if this was not the best either of them had ever had. They never did do half measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL IM SORRY I WAS GONNA WRITE SMUT BUT I COULDNT IM A 16 YEAR OLD GIRL AND THE ONLY GUY IVE EVER KISSED IS GAY BUT ACTUALLY IT WAS A GREAT STORY BC I KINDA AM TOO


End file.
